'Are we not to speak until then? Or only discuss the weather?' She lifted a hand. 'I do not need to tell you how much speaking about the weather bores me.'
'What do you wish to speak about?'
'Your travels.' She gave a decisive nod. She would work the conversation around to the bridge. 'Tell me about Brazil and your work there.'
He laughed, the sort of deep, rumbling laugh that flowed over her, enveloping her in its rich enjoyment of life. 'I can tell you about the places I have visited, but not about the bridges or how they relate to the one I am currently constructing. Tell me, what is it about going to the ball that you fear most? Why do you seek to hide?'
'I don't fear anything.' Emma curled her hand. She lied. She feared Jack Stanton and his ability to see through her. She feared the stories she had heard of his business practices. How had he made so much money, so quickly? She had a duty and responsibility towards her father's employees. She could not simply lose her reason because he was near.
'Papa, I want to speak with you.' Emma paused in the doorway of her father's study. She had gone over and over in her mind how best to approach this. Dr Milburn had been quite insistent the last time her father had had a fit--nothing was to be said to upset or alarm him. He took such pride in his work and his accuracy. The shock could kill him.
A large snore emanated from under the red handkerchief.
'You must wake up, Papa. It is important.'
Her father sat up, blinked his eyes open. 'Huh? What? Oh, it's you, Emma. What domestic crisis are you going to tell me about now?'
Emma took a deep breath and plunged ahead. She had to keep calm. She would even say that it was her fault, take the blame. He had to understand the importance of what she had discovered.
'Papa, it is about the calculations for the bridge. I couldn't understand why the two surveys were so different, but I think I have uncovered the reason.'
'Say no more, daughter.' Her father held up his hand. 'Stanton has already told me about your agreement. I am not going to aid and abet you. All the calculations in the first survey are accurate. If Stanton is half the engineer I think he is, he will recheck the calculations. But, daughter, he will find them accurate. My calculations always are.'
'Papa, I only came to ask...'
'Mudge discovered the list, if that is what you wanted to know. Came to me about it earlier, with his cap in his hands. Mrs Mudge had put it in a disused teapot and forgotten it.' Her father raised his paper. 'All this fuss about a pair of geese.'
'It was more than that, and you know it. It is the principle of the thing. I had no wish for the Goose Club to be a disaster like last year.'
Her father ran a finger around his collar. 'There were reasons for that.'
'And I swore this year would go smoothly. Jack Stanton refused to let me speak to Mudge!
He threw me off the site.' Emma struggled to take a breath, and waited for her father to agree with her.
'The plain fact of the matter is that you can't stand to lose.' Her father put his hands behind his head and leant back. 'And you know Jack Stanton has bested you. Well, my girl, I have held the lines too slack since your mother died. And it is about time somebody took you in hand--stopped you from becoming like my great-aunt Agatha, who kept cats and painted rather poor watercolours of dreary landscapes.'
'I have never been tempted in any way to be like Great-Aunt Agatha.' Emma looked at her father in horror, remembering the eccentric woman who had smelt distinctly musty and had had a booming voice. She rushed to the pier glass and regarded her face. It was still hers, and not Great-Aunt Agatha's hooked nose and squint eyes. 'You must not say such things.'
'I see I have found your weak spot--Great-Aunt Agatha.' Her father chuckled and turned the page of his news sheet. 'I shall have to remember that.'
'But, Papa, this is serious.' Emma turned from the glass. She clasped her hands together. She had to make one last effort. 'The line of the bridge will have to be moved. It is imperative that it is moved. You must let me show you why.'
'Emma, we have been over this before. I know how much time you spent, and what a help you have been, but Jack Stanton is here now. If there is an error, which I highly doubt, he will find it. I trained him to the highest standards. There is no one I trust more to do a proper job.'
He made a chopping motion with his hand. 'The only way you will be able to discuss the bridge is to go to the St Nicholas Ball.'
Emma pressed her hands to her face. She would have no option but to go to the ball and face Lottie Charlton and her cronies. Mentally she lowered the neckline of her ballgown. An inch and a half would serve better. A living relic, indeed.
Several hours of boredom was worth it if she achieved her goal in the end.
Jack was right--she could not change the laws of nature, but she could work within them. She would go to the ball and triumph. And then Jack would have to listen to the reason why the line of the bridge must be moved. It would be done without revealing the state of her father's health or who was to blame.
Butterflies attacked Emma's stomach, swooping and swirling. It was one thing to plot and plan, and quite another thing to execute. She could not help wondering if perhaps she had made the neckline of her ballgown a fraction too daring. And while the new hairstyle was certainly becoming, did it make her seem altogether too frivolous?
The urge to demand the carriage turn around and go back to the house filled her.
'Is there some problem, Miss Harrison? You look perturbed.'
'Nothing.' Emma shook her head a little more vigorously than strictly required. Her earrings swung against her jaw. She would not concede victory to Jack Stanton. She needed to hear what was happening with the bridge, particularly as her father had taken to dropping small hints about the progress and then refusing to yield any more information. She believed he took a great deal of pleasure in doing so. 'I wondered how long until the carriage arrived at the Assembly Rooms.'
'We have joined the queue. It won't be long now.' Her father stuck his head out of the window. 'I can see the Charltons have two new bays. And whatever is Fanshaw doing with a livery painted on the side? You would think he would know by now.'
'Hush, Father. You sound as bad as Mama.'
'Nobody could be as bad as that.' Her father gave an indulgent smile. 'Poor woman, she was absolutely obsessed with social position. But she had a full life. Unlike Great-Aunt Agatha.'
'Please, Father, no homilies about marriage. Not tonight.'
Emma gave a hurried glance over to Jack, who appeared to take no notice of the exchange but directed his studious gaze out of the window.
The faint strains of a waltz emerged from the Assembly Rooms as the carriage finally reached the covered entrance. Its fabled chandeliers blazed, making a welcome pool of light in the dark. Emma shifted away from Jack. The close confines of his carriage, and her father's insistence, meant they had shared the same seat.
Emma swore her father's eyes twinkled as he alighted. His intent became clear.
Matchmaking. Her father had used her interest against her. She had played directly into his hands. She should have guessed. But Jack had no interest in her. He had set up this silly contract simply to force her to go to the ball, to please her father and to teach her a lesson about interference.
'You will survive the dance. I promised you that.' Jack's hand briefly touched hers as she alighted from the carriage. The kid gloves he wore were neither shining white nor faded, but had an expensive sheen to them. In fact everything about Jack tonight, from the cut of his evening clothes to the gold stickpin in the centre of his stock, proclaimed that here was a successful man, a man of great wealth and taste.
'I planned on it. Like you, I do try to keep my promises, even if they are foolishly given.'
Emma inclined her head. 'Did you think I would find an excuse?'
'The thought had crossed my mind--several times. But you appear determined to discover what is happening with the bridge.'
'The company belongs to my family. I have an interest.' Emma concentrated on rearranging her cloak.
'You should leave such things to the experts.'
'You mean to you,' she said quickly.
'And your father.' He nodded towards where her father was greeting several of the town worthies. 'He is well respected.'
'And you think I should have no interest in such matters?'
'What I think has very little relevance, as I did make a promise. Had I really wanted to keep such things a secret, I would never have made the promise.'
'Then this was purely an exercise to get me to go to the dance.'
'To get you over your fear.' He gave a wide smile 'The prospect of the evening seems to have improved your father no end. He seems as giddy as a schoolboy.'
She had to admit, from the way her father jumped down from the carriage, he was far more sprightly than she had thought. However, he had taken to refusing his tonic, complaining that his stomach cramps were always worse after it than before. And goodness knew when his other symptoms would return. It was only a matter of time. She had to face facts. Dr Milburn had been quite clear on that. She had to be practical, but she also had to ensure Harrison and Lowe would survive.
'As I said--it was a chill. He is inclined to overdo things at times. Mama used to complain about it regularly.'
'The evening will do your father good. There, now, you can relax. He has made it to the door.
He is safe from the night air.'
Emma pressed her lips together. Jack was making it sound as if she acted like her father's gaoler, or an overly-protective nanny. 'I have no wish for the chill to return. It was...frightening to see my father in bed.'
'You will be gratified to know that he has decided to be sensible and allow me to oversee the bridge until at least Christmas.'
'But I understood you had a number of projects...' Emma said with dismay. She had hoped she'd be able to persuade her father without involving Jack. She was not sure if she was ready to explain that it had been her father who had made the mistakes. She had clung to the hope that Jack would tire of this game and depart, now that her father appeared to be getting better.
'None as pressing as this one. I am not satisfied with the riverbed. The second survey--' He stopped, and his lips turned up. 'Ah, but I shall say no more until after I have seen you polka.'
'You enjoy teasing me. We are here now.'
'But a contract is a contract, Miss Harrison.'
'I shall hold you to your promise,' Emma said, and allowed the maid to take her cloak and muff. Her hands smoothed the rose silk, making sure it fell smoothly.
Jack's eyes suddenly darkened as the full glory of her ballgown was revealed. The rose silk and Belgian lace set off her complexion nicely, she thought, and the spaniel curls at the side of her head made the planes of her face seem less angular, younger somehow, but she had definitely lowered the neckline a little too much. She resisted the urge to pull it higher.
She lowered her lashes and quickly scanned the list of dances. 'There is a polka first. Or one immediately after supper.'
'I had wondered if you would mention it.' Jack took the printed sheet from her. 'Normally a lady waits to be asked.'
'We have an agreement. Unless you mean for me to dance with someone else?'
'How did our contract go?' His voice rippled over her, holding her in its warmth. 'Remind me of the exact terms. Did we specify who you were to dance with?'
'I...I can't remember.' Emma hated that her voice faltered, that her mind appeared to be more intent on the shape of his mouth than on the terms of their agreement. She straightened her shoulders. It was humiliating to think that he did not really want to dance with her. He knew that they had agreed on a polka, and that was the first dance. It only stood to reason. Maybe he wanted to wait until the one after supper, see her sit on the sidelines, waiting to be asked?
Emma forced her spine upright. This was not going to be the first time she had spent most of a dance seated.
'My father has entered into the spirit. He refuses to divulge any information.'
'I believe he can sense an opportunity.' Jack's hand touched the small of her back, guiding her forward and up the stairs. 'You are now here, but can you polka properly? I have no wish to cause you embarrassment. Or would you prefer a waltz?'
A waltz. Emma moved away from his hand. He had no idea what the two words did to her insides, making her remember what it had been like all those years ago here. They had waltzed then. He had been light on his feet, and a warm cocoon had surrounded her. What would it be like to waltz with him now? Emma's mouth went dry. She thought she had buried such thoughts a long time ago.
She noticed Jack was watching her with speculation in his eyes. He had probably forgotten.
Emma straightened her skirt, lifted her chin, and became determined to look forward. 'I can polka, Mr Stanton. I am quite determined to polka.'
Emma did not want to think about how many times she had practised the steps in her bedroom this afternoon. She'd been determined not to make a fool of herself. And now it appeared that Jack had simply used it as a way to get her to attend the dance. She need not have bothered.
A tiny smile appeared on Jack's face. 'I never doubted that for an instant.'
'Ah, Miss Harrison, what an unexpected pleasure.' Dr Milburn's strident tones echoed around her, causing her to jump. 'Is your father here as well? He looked peaked the last time we spoke. I fear it can be but a matter of time before we are called to increase the amount of tonic your father takes.'
Emma winced and turned from Jack's suddenly narrowed gaze. She should have planned for Dr Milburn. She could only hope that he did not mention her father's illness.
'My father has disappeared into the throng, yes.' She waved a vague hand towards the ballroom. 'He has probably gone to the gaming tables. You know his addiction to whist.'